Highway to Hell
by Bantam
Summary: When Quatre gets into a fight with his father, the best solution seems to be taking off in his car down a dusty highway. But when his brakes fail his life takes a turn for the interesting. Especially when he meets an intriging mechanic. yaoi warning, AU
1. Look what the Cat dragged in

The road was stretched before him like an open book. Every road sign he passed was like the turn of a page, leaving one full of anticipation of what was to happen next. A new adventure, a new life . . . a new inspiration to his meaningless existence known as life. For this book was a desolate one; as dull and desolate as the feeling in his heart.

His car droned on as it made its way down the barren highway somewhere between the East and West coast. Where he was exactly? He didn't know, and if he did, he didn't care. Anywhere away from home was his destination.

The boy's eyes were narrowed, not only against the glare of the scorching sun, but deep in thought as he went over the events that took place exactly (he turned to look at the clock on his radio then) twenty hours ago. Furiously he chewed on his bottom lip and cranked the volume up. Quatre Rebarba Winner did not want to remember the reason he had squealed out of the parking lot of his father's estate in a rage.

The blonde heaved a sigh then, and leaned his elbow against the window, resting his chin upon the palm of his hand. Did this highway ever turn? Did the scenery ever change? The heat was uncomfortable, to say the least, even if he had the top down.

Sweat and dust changed his normally brilliant shade of blonde to a dusty mop. Quatre heaved a sigh. Was there really any point in this running anyway? Father would probably just send out his personal "assistants", the police, and the National Guard to return his son and heir to the Winner Enterprises "throne". That's all he was. An heir. Someone to make sure the business stays in the Winner bloodline . . . so that his father could go to his grave content in knowing his legacy would live on. Another Winner clone . . . what was that smell?

A strange stench the boy couldn't identify leaked into his nostrils, and uncertain in not knowing what it was, he tapped on the brakes to try and ease the car over to the side of the road. Except the brakes didn't work. In a slowly rising panic he attempted to pump the brakes, maybe they'd gotten stuck or something? For goodness sakes! He didn't know much about cars! He'd just gotten his liscense four months ago!

As the car sped along at eighty miles per hour, Quatre attempted to rationalize the situation. He would just keep steering the car along, leave off the gas, and wait for it to dift to a halt. Simple right? But dear sweet Allah did not seem to be shining upon the boy that day. For up ahead were some horribly inconveniently placed boulders across the road. To say the least. "Highway to Hell" blared on the teen's radio as he tried to think of what he could possibly do. He was going eighty miles per hour for crying out loud!

He came closer and closer to the road hazard; that feeling of dread felt like a melon in his stomach, and Bon Scott screamed ironic words of devastation in his ringing ears. And he did the only thing he could think of. He veered off the road.

White knuckled, Quatre gripped the steering wheel as he tried to retain control of the car, yet it was a feat that seemed impossible. It was a vehicle that was just not destined for off road and he felt every bone rattling jar as the car was thrown about like a rag doll.

Just when he felt he couldn't take anymore, the car veered sideways towards a slight incline, not slowed down much by the rough terrain.

_Maybe this isn't such a bad solution . . ._

Quatre thought absently as the covertable flipped through the air . . .

* * *

The first thing he knew was a searing headache and the taste of dirt in his mouth. Funny. That wasn't at all what he'd imagined the afterlife felt like.

The heat had seemed to subside, the sun a mere red ball on the western horizon, yet Quatre didn't know this. He still hadn't dared crack open his eyes. A painful moan escaped his dry lips and finally he cracked his eyes open. Just a little bit. And it hurt like hell. His head pounded violently and felt like it was in the clutches of a vice grip, and an odd noise droned in his left ear. Quatre blinked. His face was smashed against the radio and the opening of "Stairway to Heaven" sang sweetly in his ears.

Angrily he reached out to start smashing his fists into the still playing radio. But his anger would not be vented. The back of his seat was smashed down over top of him and his left arm was trapped under the steering wheel. At first he was even more furious. Until he realized that the back of his seat had saved his life. Otherwise to weight of the car would likely be pressed upon him. He was upside down. And he was trapped.

Almost resigned, he squeezed his eyes shut once more. So fate had determined that he wouldn't die quickly of a snapped neck or broken back? He would die slowly and painfully of whatever injuries he may have sustained, starvation, dehydration? He relaxed his eyes. So be it. At least he'd be asleep when he died.

And then he was unconscious.

* * *

Dawn broke over the small sleepy town, and most lay comfortably asleep in their beds, relishing what remained of the cool night air. Most. But not Cat, oh no. There was work to do. A petite steel toed shoe lashed out and kicked the tire of her rusty pickup. And a piece of the truck promptly disattatched itself from the vehicle.

Muttering some obscene words, the gray eyed woman climbed into the driver's seat and brought the rust bucket to a sputtering wheeze it called life.

"Come on baby, give me one more run. I love you? Aww, who'm I kiddin, work you piece a shit afore I tear you up fer parts!" She grumbled as she smashed the dashboard with her fist.

It seemed to take the hint and pulled out of the garage without any further trouble. Smugly she set off down the road. Tha's right. Catherine Bloom doesn't take shit from nobody! Man, beast, or rust factory on wheels!

Now, why exactly is a young woman like Cat out in that dusty ole pickup truck hours before the rest? Because she wanted to see if her strategically placed boulders and "displaced" any cars over night. Yes, it may not have been very nice, but you see, Cat made a living off of taking parts from other people's cars, and selling them to the local mechanic shop. Who more often than not ended up selling the parts back to the original owners. In her eyes, the plan was brilliant and she allowed herself a smug grin.

Rolling along at a pace she hoped was not too hard on the truck, she slowly approached her boulder ploy and scanned the grounds for any sign of a stalled or crashed car. Usually people slowed down in time for the boulders and attempted to go around, yet the dust buildup in their engine and the hard time it was to get around usually stalled the cars out. And then the people would leave to look for help while she looted their car. Yet it didn't seem like she'd caught anybody yesterday.

With a sigh she pulled the truck to a stop and climbed out to look for any sign that she had missed anything. A flat landscape like this made it hard to hide anything, yet one could hope. She heaved a sigh and ran a hand through her curly brown hair as she scanned to road and the side of the road for something. Anything. No skid marks? Hmm. But wait! She wandered further off the road and saw that it had been torn up pretty good. That was a good sign.

Eyes glued to the ground, she followed the tore up landscape for a good fifty feet before she smelled the gasoline. Her gaze drifted up to reveal what she though was just another tumbleweed or scraggly bush was in fact a car. A very smashed up car. Worry laced her eyebrows as she ran towards it. She'd never meant to hurt anyone too bad! Reckless driver, how could he escape a wreck like that? There was nothing left! Yes she specifically meant he. Women didn't drive like that.

"Hello? Hello! Hey, is there anybody alive in there?" She called out as she kneeled in front of the upside down wreck.

Daylight still hadn't fully broken and it made things hard to see. The interior was all smashed up, and as she attempted to squeeze her top half in there she braced herself for the worst. Wandering fingers searched for the driver . . . or what was left of him, and she jumped as her fingers brushed cool, clammy skin. Determined to get the driver out, she ran back to her truck and drove it up next to the wreck, and swung some tools out of the back.

It took a little while to tear apart the side of the car, and even more to get the steering wheel and seat out of the way, but finally she reached him. Pulling a knife out of her belt she sawed away at the seat belt. At least he was wearing one. Gently she pulled the body out, and she gasped as it revealed a fragile looking teen about her brother's age. With trepidation, she checked for a pulse, and was relieved to find a steady one.

As she loaded him up carefully into her passenger seat, a slight moan escaped him. All she could think was, he was a lucky summa bitch. Cat took one last look at the wreck, and listened to a strange sound. Poking back inside the car, she found that the radio was still playing. Well. She would leave today empty handed. So she unhooked it, stuffed it in her glove compartment, and headed home.

Wont the boys be surprised to see what the Cat dragged in today?

**

* * *

**

**A/N:** _No, Gundam Wing doesn't belong to me, unfortunatly. Also, I reassure you, this will not be a QuatrexCathy fic. I caution you I take a long time to update because I am lazy. Unless I decide to be unlazy. Then I don't take forever. Just be prepared for the worst!_


	2. He followed me home

Snap! Clang! Shit. That didn't sound good.

"What are you doing over there?"

"Uhh . . . heh . . . well, you see . . . okay, this is how it went, I was pullin' an' twistin' and yankin' on this here thingy ma jig, tryin' ta get it off you know, and it wouldn't, so I, ahh . . . kicked it cuz it pissed me off an all. And then it broke."

The brown haired mechanic was tempted to smirk then. He had a very active imagination and the words that had just poured out of the other's mouth were almost too entertaining to resist comment. Almost. Instead all he got was the "don't-be-an-idiot-and-get-back-to-work-before-I-give-you-the-cold-shoulder" look. Or at least, that was how Duo, the braided mechanic/scavenger/late night stand up comic, interpreted it.

"Aww, man, seriously, you are sick!" Duo protested. He'd known Trowa for far too long. "Get your mind out of the gutter! You need to get laid man, I'm tellin ya . . ." Even with his groaning, he got back to work, not without the occasional curse and odd muttering underneath his breath however.

This got a snort from Trowa, who otherwise seemed unfazed by the other's comments. His own personal life was not important (if it existed) and was not to be discussed while at work. It wasn't professional.

He took another look at the engine he was working on and narrowed his eyes as he tried to think what else could possibly be wrong with the damned thing. The young man had checked just about everything he could think of, yet the problem still wasn't fixed . . . but then a light bulb seemed to go on and with sudden inspiration he dove back into his work. Eureka.

If it had been anyone else, they might have smiled with satisfaction at finally fixing the car before him. Several of the other mechanics had been stumped and told the owners to just sell the P.O.S. car. But not Trowa, just as sure as he would not quit once set on a task he would not allow that smile. Instead he nodded to himself, wiped off his greasy hands on a rag, and walked over to the schedule on the wall to see what other things needed working on today.

He was disappointed to find nothing save the car Duo was working on. He wouldn't be surprised if the car was sent back with more things broken than were fixed. As if on some kind of cue a strange wheezing noise came from said car, followed quickly by a "Shit! I didn't do it!" from said mechanic. Turning, almost afraid of what he'd see, he looked over. The sight before his eyes caused him to turn promptly to the break room.

"I need a break." He mumbled to himself.

Duo had spit the piece of gum he was chewing into his hand and was attempting to plug up the hole in the hose with it.

* * *

"There you go." Cat murmured, though she knew the boy wouldn't hear her.

Her face was still creased with worry as she laid the blonde out on the battered, yet comfortable couch in the break room. She couldn't think of any place else to bring him. If Cat had brought him back to her home (hell hole) she wouldn't be able to keep an eye on him. And it seemed that he seriously needed that.

She didn't know why it had affected her so much; if it had been anybody else she probably would've seen if it was anybody important, left them (after taking the radio), felt a moment of guilt, and then not had a second thought. If anything in life had taught her it was to look out for your own. And that was it.

Yet something about this almost fragile seeming boy tugged at her heartstrings and forced her to act. He almost seemed to scream to her "I'm just a scared small boy in a big world and I need to be protected!" Maybe it was just the big sister instinct in her.

Whatever it was, it also caused her to brush back his golden bangs from his still closed eyes and marvel at how unscathed he seemed to be. From what she could see, all he had were some scrapes and bruises. He would sure be sore when he woke up, but she couldn't see why he wouldn't.

"Well . . . it seems that someone's lookin' out for you kid." She said before deciding to run home real quick (it was a five minute walk) and get something for him when he was awake. "You just sit here and I'll go get you some soup." As if he could do otherwise.

With that, she left, giving a quick wave to her brother, Trowa, on her way out the door. It didn't hit her till she stepped through the door of her house that she should've warned somebody about the extra body laying around.

* * *

With his eyes nearly closed (from lack of sleep) the young man entered the break room and headed instinctively for the coffee pot. It seemed like the only thing keeping him going now-a-days. For some reason, he'd been having a lot of trouble sleeping at night. Not that anybody knew, for he kept it well hidden. Trowa just couldn't stand to let people on to any kind of weakness. Not if he could help it.

A deep sigh was heaved as he fumbled around on the counter, eyes half lidded, looking for the cheap styrofoam cups. The steamy trickling noise of (near) fresh coffee pouring into his cup was a bit of relief. Now all he needed was a comfy place to sit . . . what the hell?

The sight before him caused his emerald eyes to open all the way, though he showed no other sign of surprise. He took a sip of coffee. There was a boy. Laying down on the couch. Asleep. That certainly wasn't typical. Trowa took another sip and hissed as he let the heat set on his tongue for too long.

Curious, he wandered closer to the stranger, even going so far as to kneel beside the couch to get a better look. The boy certainly was . . . beautiful . . . for lack of a better word. Even through the dirt, bruises, and occasional spot of dried blood he could see that. He seemed so young . . . yet for some reason he suspected that the boy was around the same age as himself.

For the moment he seemed to have forgotten to wonder how the boy ended up here, and just wanted to look at him. A strange feeling clenched at his gut (ever so softly) as his eyes wandered up and down his slim body. It seemed more than curiosity that drew him to the boy, yet this (lustful) unknown feeling gnawed away at the outer rims of his mind.

His (lustful) wandering gaze finally drew to a stop from looking at the many small cuts and abrasions he had to a decent sized gash he had on his forehead. Absently he wondered how the boy got so banged up as he leaned in to get a closer look at the gash.

Then a sudden pain erupted in his stomach and the hot coffee went flying.

* * *

In his blackness there was no sound save for the gentle rumblings of what sounded like a coffee pot. As he started to come to, his nose confirmed this. Every single spot on his body seemed to ache with a dull pain, yet the surface he was laying on was quite comfortable. In fact, it was tempting to just fall back asleep. But a new sound brought him to heightened awareness. It was the sound of someone breathing.

His eyes opened ever so slightly, and he reminded himself to keep his breath deep and even. Through his thick lashes he could see a chin, a pair of lips, and a tuft of brown hair coming way too close to comfort to his face.

Once again he was filled with dread as a million possible scenarios flitted through his head. What if he was some weird becrazed psycho that dragged him from the wreck and was now intending to have his wicked way with him? What if he was only minutes away from humiliation and a slow painful death!

Enough. This was no way for a Winner heir (internal shudder) to behave. With a slight clench of the jaw and ball of the fist, he slammed that fist into his attacker's stomach with all the force he could manage. As his assailant stumbled back with a grunt of surprise he tried to leap from the couch . . . but only managed to roll off it as a wave of nausea hit. He must've been banged on the head pretty good or something.

Steeling himself against this onslaught, he spotted what seemed to be a back door and half crawled half stumbled towards it. Until the sound of a voice froze him in his tracks.

"What the hell was that for?"

Slowly Quatre turned to look at his assailant full on for the first time. He was surprised to find someone his own age glaring back at him.

Trowa wiped away some of the coffee that had splashed up onto his cheek, unknowingly revealing angry red marks where it had burnt his skin. His shirt had been quickly torn off once he caught his breath so he could save his chest the same pain, and now he sat on his haunches, crouched back against the counter he'd almost hit his head on.

Quatre felt a wave of guilt wash over him as he saw those red marks on his face. He hoped they didn't blister. But he was also surprised at his question, and slightly angered. The boy hesitated as he leaned against the door, his fingers brushing against the knob.

"What kind of question is that? You were trying to kill me!" The blonde sputtered back.

Trowa raised a questioning eyebrow; his only sign of emotion.

"If I had wanted you dead, you would be." He stated matter-of-factly.

This statement seemed to anger Quatre even more, but he didn't have a chance to respond as the door was opened and he fell with a startled squeak through the frame. Looking down on him was an equally startled Duo. Violet eyes went from the half naked Trowa crouched on the floor to the torn up blonde at his feet, and slowly he stepped back.

"Tro, when I said you needed to get laid, I didn't mean now!" He shouted, shaking his head and covering his eyes. "I so do not want to see this! I'll be . . . somewhere else. God damn!" Duo turned and walked away to hide from this strange sight. That Trowa was a weird one all right.

Then, to add to all this chaos, Cat chose this moment to show up with cooking mitts on her hands, a frilly pink apron, and a bowl of soup.

"Soup's done!" She said cheerfully. As all eyes turned to face her in various shades of disbelief, her grin fell. "What? Oh, by the way, he followed me home. Can I keep him?"

* * *

**A/N: **Well, in case you haven't figured it out, I know very little about the mechanics of a car. So I'm pretty much bullshitting my way through all the mechanics stuff. If you couldn't tell, then I must be doing a pretty good job. But yeah, I don't see why others haven't picked up on this kind of setting. What was Tro before he was a pilot? (Besides a mercenary) Yeah, his in between job . . . was a mechanic. So in a modern day AU, wouldn't it be on the money to make him a mechanic? Besides the fact that the only mechanical things I can do on my car is drive it, fill it with gas, change the tire, and jump start it . . . so yeah. And I'm sticking pretty close to the Episode Zero Quatre; rebellious towards his father, little thought to his own life, doubting his self worth, blah blah blah. Cool beans.

**My reviewers:**

_Duet-_ I will try to be as unlazy as possible! I can't promise anything once college starts though. (insert sad face) I dun wanna grow up! I'm a Toys 'R Us kid!

_Meg-Of-The-Moon-_ As I said in the author note, I was quite surprised nobody thought of this setting before. I've been toying with it for a while too, so we'll just have to hope I can see this story through! (crosses fingers)

_Rai Kasshu-_ Demand? (meep) Okay! Okay! (begins to furiously type) Don't hurt me?

_Yurikitsune- _Yeah, I get bored of the quiet, meek, sissy boy Quatre. It's so over done, and not a very good character interpretation if you ask me. Unless you're going for satire, then it's fine. As for the emergency brake, I was taught only to use it when you're parked on a slope, or if your car starts to roll back. I was told it could seriously screw up your car, so if I were him and there were no ditches, I would've tried to steer around till I could finally come to a full stop.

_It made me-_ Now why would you say that? I've been driving for a year and a half now, thank you very much! I hope I don't sound that retarded. I admit I know very little about my car, but I know enough to have a liscense! (light-heartedly sticks tongue out)

_MeeLee-_ You think so? I'm glad somebody does! I know I have a habit with making things too short, but when I write, I guess I just kind of like to get to the point. I'll try to keep the plot just as strong!

_GundamPilot03- _Another Tro fan? (happy!) Hurrah! Ahem, but anywho, I haven't read too many Cathy fics, so I've tried to give her a little bit of extra personality as well as trying to stay true to character. (points to soup) Did you watch the English dubbed versions? Cat cracks me up every time I hear her talk. She sounds so spacey and stoned . . . I was thinking about throwing that aspect in there. (giggle)

_Kinaua- _Surprise! Happy Birthday! (hands chapter over on silver platter) Please don't hurt me? (in fear for life) But I am glad that you like it enough to threaten my well being! (grin)


	3. Long way from home

If there was one word to describe this situation, confusion just might be the one. Instead of laying in a heap on the floor, Quatre had managed to pull himself up into a sitting position against the wall while Catherine kneeled in front of him and attempted to spoon feed him her specialty soup. Trowa had since put his mechanic shirt back on, but was yet to button it back up as he looked on curiously at the pair.

"Now honey, you need to eat this soup to get your strength back." Cat said concerned as she held the spoon in front of Quatre's face.

The blonde looked questionably at the strange greenish brown liquid she called soup. He expected it to wink at him or something. Crossing his arms almost protectively across his chest, Quatre shook his head in refusal.

"I don't need any soup, thank you. My appetite just isn't up to it at the moment." He declined politely.

"Sweet heart, you NEED to eat this soup. It's GOOD for you." She said a bit more forcefully.

"I'll find some crackers later Miss, thank you for the offer, but no."

"I said eat the god damned soup, now eat the god damned fucking soup!" Cat didn't really have the best temper. She did look kind of funny when she turned that particular shade of purple however. Or so Trowa thought anyway.

Reluctantly Quatre took the bowl and spoon. He wouldn't be degraded by being spoon fed; that was something he was perfectly capable of. Sniffing it once, he slowly stuck the spoon in his mouth and tried to hide the wince as the putrid soup slid down his throat. Forcing a smile, he nodded in what he hoped appeared to be satisfaction. Cat didn't seem to notice however, for as soon as Quatre took the bowl, the roiled woman turned to Trowa.

"What the bloody hell were you trying to do Trowa! Scare him half to death! I oughta smack you good for that," Cat allowed herself a smug grin. " But it seems he already has."

Trowa directed a withering glare at his sister, but otherwise no response was given. Depending on this response, Cat nodded her head in triumph, crossed her arms, and turned her back as if to leave the room.

"Good. Now that there's no argument, you've got the rest of the day off. Take the boy home and make sure he gets some rest. And make sure he eats the rest of that soup! Don't even think about dumping it down the sink again this time, I know how to check those pipes dammit!" She turned to wink at her brother. "Be home by seven! Take care!" And with that she lost herself amongst the piles of parts. If she didn't want to be found she wouldn't.

The two boys exchanged suspicious glances. Taking things in stride was one of Trowa's strong points though, and after pouring himself another cup of coffee, he spoke without emotion over his shoulder.

"Don't worry, you can give it to Duo. He'll eat anything."

Quatre blinked a few times, not sure whether or not the other boy was cracking a joke or not. As Trowa offered nothing else, save taking the bowl and spoon from him and setting it on the counter, Quatre decided it was best to follow him.

"Don't you want to know my name?" Quatre asked as he followed the taller boy out of the door.

"Names are trivial."

How Quatre looked forward to the rest of the day spent cooped up in a room with this guy.

* * *

The room was dark, and purposely so. Giant shades were drawn closed over the massive office windows, no light was on, and the only noise that could be heard was a rhythmic clicking from behind the plush executive chair. Everything in the over sized room was sterile; everything in that over sized room was cold. Silently the door to the office slipped open, allowing a small shred of light to creep in. Then, just as silently it slipped shut once more. The clicking noises stopped.

"So good of you to join me. Report?"

"The target escaped sir. I accept full responsibility."

"What do you mean the kid's still alive Agent Zero One? I thought I told you to take care of him." Spoke an eerily calm voice from behind the executive chair.

"The subtle method didn't work sir. Requesting permission to take more direct means, sir." Responded the other from the wall across the room.

" . . . Request denied. I'm a very patient man, Agent Zero One. Where is he now?" The chair creaked slightly as the man shifted his position.

"In a small town approximately sixteen hundred miles from here sir." The voice remained just as professional, just as emotionless as before.

"Hum, brat ran far didn't he? Go to this town and take him out. Don't draw any attention back to the company, understand? No matter what. Oh, and Agent Zero One?"

"Yes sir?"

"I wont accept failure a second time." He rumbled.

"Mission accepted." The figure, barely a shadow on the wall, turned and left the room.

"How far can you run Winner?" Murmured the man in the chair, and a light, humorless chuckle followed. "How long can you hide?"

* * *

The stained yellow wallpaper was slowly drooping off the walls, the furniture was sagging and full of rips and tears, the floors creaked with every step, and the carpets smelled faintly of mold and old cat urine. Marvelous.

Quatre sat on the edge of a large green sofa, wanting as little of himself to touch it as possible. Looking around the floors with a wrinkled nose, he had also decided to leave his shoes on. Clanking and rustling sounded then from the kitchen, and curiously the blonde stood up to investigate.

"Shi-! Oh come on, what the . . . you've gotta be kiddin- ouch!"

Barely hiding a grin behind his hand at the other's obvious distress, Quatre peered around the corner to see what was the matter. Crouching on the floor was the boy from earlier, his pointer finger jammed in his mouth and a deadly glare directed at a fat rat perched inside the cupboard. Just as evil, it seemed, the rat glared back at the boy that had interrupted its nap. On the ledge of the windowsill lounged a plump cat. A lazy eye was turned toward the rat before it yawned, stretched, turned around, and went back to sleep.

A little startled at the sight of the rat (though not surprised) Quatre decided not to enter the kitchen at that moment in time. This was the dingy room that the soup had come from? Quatre shuddered.

"Are you okay?" He asked curiously.

Trowa turned his glare from the rat to the blonde.

"It bit me." Trowa growled simply.

"Well . . . I don't think it's a very good idea to stick your finger in your mouth if it bit you. It could have a disease! Or something . . ." Quatre took a few steps into the kitchen, switching his gaze back and forth between the boy and the pompous looking rat.

"I'm getting my shotgun." The other said, and got to his feet.

As he swept out of the room, more crashing could be heard from a room further into the house. Confused momentarily by what he meant, but slightly intimidated by his anger, Quatre wisely hopped out of his way as the unibanged boy touted a large, old shotgun into the kitchen and carefully took aim at the rat. The rat cocked his head to the side.

Realizing what the other was going to do, Quatre yelped in protest.

"Don't kill it!" He shouted, just as Trowa pulled the trigger.

Startled by the sudden scream in his ear, the bullet went wild and embedded itself into the wall near the window. The rat ran and the cat barely cracked open an eye. His jaw grimly set, and the rat now spotted on the kitchen table, Trowa took aim once more. Just then, Quatre snatched the rat up off the table and held the squealing rodent firmly in his hands.

"I said don't kill it!" Quatre repeated angrily. He almost feared the other boy would turn the gun on him.

Trowa then reluctantly put the gun down and directed the same withering glare upon him as he had placed on his sister earlier. Reaching up into the cupboard, he grabbed a cereal box down and tossed it on the table.

"Here's your lunch." He grunted as he left the room.

The rat looked dumbly up at his savior before sinking his teeth into the boy's thumb and running off. Thumb being promptly shoved in his mouth, a woeful glance was placed on the cereal box. There was a hole chewed into the side of it. Just then the cupboard came crashing down on the kitchen counter.

Quatre sure was a long way from home . . .

* * *

**A/N: **Long time no see! Heh heh. Don't hurt me? I've actually had the beggining to this chapter written for a little while now . . . just took a little while to scrape up a bit more. I'm trying to make the chapters longer, but it's haaaard! (whines) It's also hard to write for fun when your Advanced College Writing (waves hands around in exaggeration of its importance) teacher assigns ya four to seven page essays for homework each and every class. I hate college . . . who needs an edjimication anyway? And I got fired last Wednesday too . . . I suppose that gives me more time to write . . . (jabs a needle into the voodoo doll of her ex-manager with evil glee) Hope this chappy wasn't too bad . . .

_Kinaua- _(hopes she wont be murdered for taking too long) Yeah, poor poor Trowa, but did anyone ever get a chance to think of how the coffee feels? Hunh! Okay, anywho . . . it seems I have a thing for Trowa abuse . . . (cries and huggles Trowa plushie)

_Meg-of-the-Moon-_ Perhaps we should start up a "Save Trowa From Evil Authoresses" fund! STFE (stef-e!) (gives Trowa plush a cookie)

_Yurikitsune- _I've read "Once" . . . but right now I can't remember what it's about . . . I'm sure it was a good story though. Wait, is that the one where Quat plans out all his stuff on chess boards? I liked that one! Hopefully you'll be surprised by all the other characters that make surprise appearences . . . bwahahaha!

_Duet- _I hate you. Just kidding! (severely misses high school) Thanks for enjoying my awesomely bad writing!

_romeo-ambiences- _Me too! (cuddles Quat plushie) Yeah, Quat can be a vicious lil bugger! Heh, stupid rat . . .

_Ridley Jack- _I know! He's jus' too durn cute! Yay! That means I'm wont feel so bad trying to sound all skamart! (nods head sagely)

_Hatori Soma- _Well, I'm glad you like it! (big cheesey grin)

_TE-Bag- _Firstly, cool name! Anywho, sorry bout that. I was feeling out a certain style. Kinda in a copy of Stephen King but not really. If that made any sense. But I promise from now on I'll only use paranthesis when I absolutely can't resist!

_Sophie-_ (rubs ass) Okay okay! Nose to the grindstone, gah! People these days. I'm workin for peanuts here! Tehe. Hope ya liked this chapter.

_Artemis Fenir- _(goes into meerkat sp? pose) Did you say candy? Here's your next chapter! (looks expectantly for candy) I like chocolates with coconut filling and the little rootbeer flavored hard candies! (hint hint) (innocent smile)


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